| And the inspiration fills me and pours out from my pen, |
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| For Elizabeth Mae |
[11 Sep 2005|10:15pm] |
my lord is a phoenix
he riseth from the ashes
with a firey passion
to heal my wayward soul
my lord is a phoenix
soaring over mountains
illuminating pathways
to eternal life
my lord is a phoenix
he opens up my eyes
sets me on my feet
and leads me home
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| Seminar |
[25 Aug 2005|08:33pm] |
I was more scared in that moment
than I have ever been in my life,
but I went anyway
and I shone.
I remember sitting on the grass
under a diamond sky
with lifelong friends
whom i had known for a week.
I danced a dance that begun thousands of years ago
with music from an old tape player
on a dusty stage with familiar strangers
and I've never felt closer to God.
I remember crying out of happiness
and laughing to keep from crying.
I didn't sleep for two weeks
because no dream
was worth those waking hours.
I cowered from harmless insects
and conquered lifelong demons.
I fell in love 1,000 times
and had 71 brothers and sisters.
I spoke the words of Furies
and played the games of Gods.
I laughed when he said I was beautiful,
I cried when she said I was enough.
I was held up to the heavens
by 15 new companions
shouting my name,
and in the house lights of a barren stage
I was reborn.
I remember failing,
and still being loved.
I remember leaving
knowing it would never end.
"I am Claire
And I thank you."
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[21 Apr 2005|06:33pm] |
get that flame away from my flesh
a humble beginning that feels like death
a crumbling heart that grasps for breath
a sharp pain like freedom
i'm slipping.
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| WIP |
[31 Mar 2005|11:51pm] |
Tell me what you think.
i'd like you to tell me i'm beautiful
and mean it
just once.
i'd like you to paint me a portrait.
and make my teeth look better than they are.
and draw my stomach flat
and my hair nicely brushed.
or not
and love it anyway.
i'd like you to tell me
tell me where you go when you leave.
or better yet
i'd like you to stay.
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| Nina |
[18 Jan 2005|06:35pm] |
If acting is a profession of pretending
why, then, does my soul laugh, too,
when my character is happy?
It must then be a job for realists.
But still no.
For even when I cry on stage,
inside, somewhere, I am still laughing.
©
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[16 Jan 2005|08:28pm] |
inspire me
paint a ribbon up my body
tie it around my mouth
a thin tapestry sewn of diamond and silver
smells like money
tastes like poison
show me
shoot down the sun
blind me with it's darkness
cover my eyes with a shadow
a strip of velvet
looks like death
feels like freedom
validate me
prove that i am more than good enough.
paint me with specks of gold and rust
put me down as second best
what's the difference?
i still lost, didn't I?
didn't I?
cut me
i may look strong but my flesh is
paper thin
words like razors
piercing
and
slicing
behind this skin is sunlight
watch it bleed
scare me
tie my hands behind my back
throw me in an ocean
tell me to swim across.
I'm only as strong as my weakest moment
and here it is.
right me
clean me up and dust me off
put a gun to my head and tell me to smile
clip my wings and watch me fly
cut off my feet and see me dance.
put a bag over my face and tell me i'm beautiful.
write me
tell me what i am
then tell me that it's perfect.
put me in the spotlight
and beat me.
look me in the eye
and tell me i can do this by myself.
i dare you.
©
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inspired by my lovely ![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif) midorimirror |
[05 Oct 2004|08:43pm] |
I write bad haiku.
Because I'm bad at counting.
Is this even right?
I'm not creative.
My haiku is very bad.
this line just fills space.
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| ::Pets her poor, neglected poetry journal:: |
[21 Aug 2004|07:35pm] |
I am alive, I swear. Sorry for sucking so much at posting, you guys.
A/N:
I just want to say hello and welcome to all the new people who have recently friended me on silent_symphony. I really appreciate everyone's support and kind words about my poetry, it means more to me than you know.
And now A POEM! BAYUM!
For someone whom I love and miss. He knows who he is.
~~~~
Do you realize
how lovely you are?
How much love you deserve?
How much love you will find?
Do you see the light
that surrounds you?
That the most beautiful of things in me
are only pale reflections of it?
I've written you letters, darling.
Novels held in sealing wax that you will never read.
and my heart bleeds through the pages.
Waiting to be set free
or broken.
You deserve so much more
than this little town could give you.
An Eagle in a canary's cage
waiting to spread his wings and be free.
But can't you be free
And be here?
And be mine?
Aren’t you anxious to see what time holds for you?
Aren’t you excited
for your future accomplishments?
And the new things you will find?
I am.
Even since the beginning.
Watching you light the sky of our little town.
Shaming the sun with your radiant wings.
But you
Too big and too beautiful for this dusty Nest
have left to fly alone.
To build a bridge from the ocean to the mountains with your winged flight.
To warm all that you meet with the light that surrounds you.
and I
remain in this landscape
flapping my wings
Kicking up dust.
Come home.
It’s lonely
And it’s cold.
And your reflection dims inside me.
I wish I could capture
my feelings
in pictures
like you.
Strengthining yourself
With memories of familiar faces
Until you grow beyond them and fly away.
Leaving only the pictures
to mull over and remember.
Through a visual symphony of colors and shapes.
But my pictures are blurry
And my words are all I have.
So this poorly written poem will have to do.
In my absence of you.
And your absence of me.
Until you take me in your Eagle’s wings
And warm me once again.
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| (Suprizingly Accurate) Generalizations About High School |
[19 Jul 2004|10:02pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 bored |
] |
| [ |
music |
| |
Tangled Up In Blue - Indigo Girls (live) |
] |
Written in 1st period math class Sophomore year. WIP.
///
Sometimes I think
that the whole point of high school
is to get you hating people good and early.
To become bitter and reserved quickly
as to not be dissappointed later on
when you realize how similar high school and the real world really are.
That the boys are the intellectual equivalents
to 6-year-olds
with descended testicals.
And the girls
are suprizingly like
a lower evolutionary form
of rabid chipmonks
in tight clothing.
///
::Pets her poor, neglected poetry journal::
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| ::Pets her poor, neglected creative writing journal:: |
[14 Jun 2004|09:24pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 cheerful |
] |
Sorry I haven't been posting. More to come soon, I can feel it.
But as of this moment... random snippets that will have something to do with something in the future, but for now are just random. Not very good. You'll just have to deal.
< begin random post >
and suddenly i am beautiful
just by hearing your name
and you can continue your beautiful conquest.
like you've got something to prove
that no one else could possibly realize.
but in the end you're always welcome home.
</ end random post >
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|
| The Fallen |
[01 May 2004|12:12am] |
I wrote this tonight while watching the Nightline presentation of The Fallen, which was basically a reading of all most of the names of the soldiers who have died in Iraq over the past year. This is exactly how I wrote it. If something is crossed out, it was crossd out on the page. This is unedited and probably bad. I will work on it more at a later date (I always say that).
~~~~
As I sat there and watched it, I tried to imagine their personalities. I thought, "These were people. They had families and friends and some even had husbands and wives and babies." But the names passed too quickly to think too much. I kept staring at their faces, trying to imprint them into my mind. And I thought, "If I can remember all of their faces, then none of them will be forgotten." But there were too many. Each stayed up on the screen for maybe three seconds each. Enough to say the name and that of the next person, and then it changed.
I wanted to stop writing. I wanted to focus all of my attention on the screen for the whole 1/2 hour, to pay complete attention as every name was read as if I could memorise each face, name, rank, age. But I thought it almost better to write. To express the feelings as they were coming to me. Was that wrong?
Oh God, there was a picture of a man kissing a baby, and another of a soldier flashing a peace sign.
I wanted to scream, "I'm sorry for ever thinking about anything but this. I'm sorry for worrying about grades or boys or anything that takes away from this. I'm sorry for my shallow pain, and I'm sorry for your unimaginable one."
Most were military portraits. Some were taken at events, some were even family portraits. Some names had no pictures at all. In those places were small American flags lined up.
~~~~
The oldest age was 52, the youngest was 18.
To date there are 737 American soldiers that have lost their lives in Iraq (including 2 killed just today). 16 of those names the show did not have, totalling only 721 named read in that half hour.
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| More to come on this one... I say that a lot... but yeah... |
[09 Mar 2004|09:26pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 calm |
] |
he smiles like there's nothing to hide.
he runs like he's missing his ride.
he laughs like he's forgotten to cry.
but these little performances
always seem to coincide
with the pain that he sees
as he falls to his knees
with nobody below
wth the power to ease.
and he says that he's fine
that it's all in his mind.
but he just has that look
like it's curtain call time.
it seems like he's home
but he's lost in the tide.
and the way he portrays
all the lines on the page
he belongs on the stage
with his beauty and rage.
and theres something to freedom,
but there's nothing like pain.
it seems like he's home
but he's still stuck in the rain.
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|
| Paramour and the Color Red |
[08 Feb 2004|10:49pm] |
*warning, some mature and disturbing content
~~~
the night is black.
and the darkness seeps in through my doorway
like gasoline.
death is no door
no passage through to another world.
only end.
check and mate.
some think i do not believe in a God.
this is untrue.
i believe in God when it is convenient to me.
when my head and my heart are able to converge
and make what becomes a devine.
living through the pages.
this is god.
agony is a paramour.
a sweet, longingful lover
only there to make you feel like you belong.
meant to shut you from your thoughts
into the beauty of worthlessness
and the lightness of unforgiving.
until the day comes
and you are left again
alone.
something pulls me to my agony.
the sweet sentuality of the cold metal on my skin.
the gentle feeling of pain.
until all is worthless.
all is meaningless
save this tiny death inside of me.
pain is red.
like a deep fluid flowing from one's vains.
ever swiftly moving
never ceasing
until there is nothing to be done.
and all is lost.
in death and darkness and oblivion.
nothing is sweeter than the feeling of pain.
the quick release and the rush of fear.
making all others insignificant.
the slicing of the skin above my bones.
the feeling of the infinate weight being lifted for a time.
the beauty in the color red.
I am seduced by this color.
by it's strength and healing.
reconstructing to deconstruct.
creating to die.
insinerating to be reborn.
in blackness.
the feeling of death is not what frightens me.
you died once.
and you left me a letter with your name
and the words "this too shall pass"
and a feeling of red.
written in the color of pain.
waiting for the night to come again.
and my lover to enter through my door
seeping through the cracks
like darkness.
whispering the words you wrote to me.
and all is right
and all is red
and all is true in agony.
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[07 Feb 2004|10:56pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 content |
] |
if you'd let down your guard for even a moment
i promise i wont hurt you like i have before.
if you're willing to open up one more time,
im ready to come running back once more.
if you're weary,
won't you take my hand?
if you've fallen
won't you let me help you stand?
if im anything you love,
it's because you love me.
if im anything that's beautiful,
it's inspired by your beauty.
i wish i could tell you when the loneliness subsides
a quick fix to a painful realization.
but there's nothing i can do but love you best that i know how.
and try and help you through this hard transition.
~~~~~~~~
Whatever. I wrote more, but it was bad. I was writing it, and realized (as I articulated to Saira), "this poem is turning real bad, real fast. real, real fast."
So yeah. It's not finished. So there ya go.
-Claire
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| it's not really a poem, and it's definitly not good, but it's kind of a pro and fairly lyrical... |
[03 Feb 2004|10:13pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 blank |
] |
Considering
Today i walked home from school.
and there was rain coming down gently, but it wasn't cloudy.
the sun was shining and illuminating the raindrops like tiny rays of light.
and i thought of my writing.
and i considered my passion and my hopes and all the things i've been wanting.
and i considered you.
and my longing for something i can't quite place.
im angry at myself for being juvenile.
I like to consider myself above the trials and tribulations of regular high schoolers.
like to imagine that things like boys and being wanted don't affect me, don't hurt.
but they do. and they will.
i want to be accepted.
i want to be loved for who i am.
thought i know that's impossible.
but considering who i am
and who they are,
i understand it better.
and i think
i'd rather be hated for who i am
than loved for who i'm not.
i'd rather be open to hurt
than be closed to love.
i think it's good to be one's own.
even if it's not what they want.
who knows what they want?
i think it's important to allow yourself to be hurt.
to be vulnerable to criticism and pain.
and considering the alternative of feeling nothing at all,
i think it's better to be vulnerable, though it's frightening.
so you can hurt me.
and criticize me
and confuse me
and consider me
all you want.
because when you're done
i'll still be here.
just as lonely
just as confused
just as juvenile.
staring up at the sky
and the rain of sunlight.
hitting the earth
considering you.
reminding me of my passion.
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| Enough of Me |
[08 Jan 2004|07:26pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
 contemplative |
] |
Sit down, calm down, and listen to what you’re saying.
You’re expecting the world to change it’s mind
But that doesn’t happen overnight.
Now I see you’re fighting for some kind of purpose.
And I wonder is it really worth it?
A hero is not what I ask you to be.
Just be here, and it’s enough for me.
Love me ‘till you’ve had enough of me.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen you as happy
as you are when you’re angry.
Maybe it makes you feel like you have a purpose.
But that doesn’t mean that it’s worth it.
So now you’re saying I don’t give a damn
And you’re cursing in Spanish.
And you have such compassion for children in China
But when it comes to me, it seems to vanish.
So all that I’m honestly asking you
Is what is it you really expect me to do?
I don’t really know what you want me to be.
Now that you’ve had enough of me.
So you can go chasing your demons and windmills
And maybe you’ll find yourself somewhere.
But I can promise you right here and now.
You won’t find another me out there.
I don’t really know what I want you to be.
I just wish you hadn’t had enough of me.
I wish it were as easy to talk to you
As you seem to think it is.
I wish you cared half as much about me
As you do about all of this.
I'm not saying that I’m angry,
I’m glad you think so clearly in this mess.
But passion can only go so far.
And eventually you have to settle down and rest.
I wish I could see all the beauty you see.
Looks like freedom, but it feels like death to me.
~~~~~~
This poem is not finishes yet, so if it sucks, that's (hopefully) why.
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| Drifter |
[08 Jan 2004|07:11pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
contemplative |
] |
When I met you, you were like a cloud soaring past.
But now you have drifted and fallen away from me.
Not sad, not bad, just true.
Because you have grown and though I’m sad that you must go,
I am glad that you can finally soar above the clouds like you diserve.
And I wish you peace, though I know that you are miles above me now.
And all I can say is that I love you.
But whether I love you now, or love you as you were, I’m not sure.
But why does that matter now that you are gone?
I don’t expect you to realize what we could have been, or even what we were.
I just want you to remember that through it all, I was there.
And now that you have drifted, I feel a closeness to you that can only come from someone who knows that they have lost another.
But like all clouds, one day you will fall.
And I shall catch you as I always have,
Always a step behind, though miles below.
Drift now...
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| Pretending |
[08 Jan 2004|06:54pm] |
| [ |
mood |
| |
bored |
] |
Alarm goes off, it’s 7:30
It’s still dark, but I can see just fine.
Walk down to the coffee shop.
I order two coffee’s, one for each of us
Hoping he’ll show, ‘cause I’m broke.
I never noticed how lonely it can be
When you’re in a room full of people.
I never realized how depressed you can feel
On the brightest morning in July.
Maybe the reason we’re falling into this
Is that we’ve never known anything else.
I’m scared of losing myself,
But I’m terrified of losing him.
I’m worried I’m missing a piece of me
But I’m petrified of being lonely.
He was my novocaine
He was my arms
Now he’s the razor and I’m bleeding slowly
He was my angel
He was my constant
Now he’s an eraser and I’m disappearing
He asks me questions,
I’ve told him already.
He tells me stories I know are lies.
All the flowers and the bracelets
Are just trinkets that he thinks proves affection.
We’re holding hands and saying, “I love you”
But I’ve never felt so alone.
He was my shelter,
He was my savior.
Now he’s the fire and I’m burning slowly.
I felt so strong,
I was so sure.
Now I’m the martyr and he’s still pretending.
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